


Dementia

by teaandtumblr



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Chocobros - Freeform, Gen, Hurt Noctis Lucis Caelum, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Noctis Whump, Past Injury, Post-Altissia (Final Fantasy XV), no fluff here, sorry to say
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-28
Updated: 2019-08-28
Packaged: 2020-09-28 11:58:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,369
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20425601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teaandtumblr/pseuds/teaandtumblr
Summary: Gladio doesn't forget, except for when he does. And when he does, there are usually serious consequences.





	Dementia

**Author's Note:**

  * For [baltshake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/baltshake/gifts).

> my friend Balt had a really bad day and asked me to expand on a random prompt I dumped on twitter. Hopefully he enjoys this, and you do too!

  
  


***

It's not that Gladio forgets sometimes...it's just that he forgets sometimes. It amongst everything that goes on, and the way no one ever mentions it - avoids it like the plague really - Gladio can convince himself that that’s okay. Even if he is Noctis’ shield and he should not forget things like this. That these are the things he’s supposed to take into account, to cover, to prevent from being made worse.

Then, Ignis loses his sight and Gladio _really_ forgets. Forgets because he’s angrier, angrier than he’s ever been and Noctis doesn’t seem to care. He understands that Noctis is hurting, they all are, but - as harsh as it is to say - Lady Lunafreya is gone. All the moping in the world won’t bring her back and there’s nothing Noctis can do about her but he can do something about Ignis. He can offer a kind word, a reassuring hand, an ounce of sympathy. And maybe he does offer it, maybe he offers it in his own way, maybe he does it behind closed doors, but it isn’t enough. Not nearly enough. Not by Gladio’s standards anyway. 

It doesn’t come to a head though. Doesn’t come to a head because Noctis slips. Slips in that damn Caestino quarry. It isn’t surprising, not really. The ground’s slick as ice, covered in algae and wet from the never-ending rain. Gladio’s almost surprised it’s taken any of them this long. But that surprise falls to the wayside as worry suddenly slams into him because he’d already been rolling his eyes, ready to scoff at Noctis, to rib him on perhaps the meaner side of teasing except...except Noctis doesn’t move. He’s goes down and he doesn’t go down hard but from the instant he slips, he’s dead stiff and dead quiet.

Gladio knows a lot about injuries, about pain. Comes with the job. The main rule of the thumb is pretty simple: if someone has the energy to scream, their injury isn’t nearly as severe as they think. But if they’re silent, frozen, it’s an overwhelming pain. It’s an injury that’s act now, think later. It’s an injury that’s so painful the body’s already being ejected into shock.

Noctis is at that point.

Somehow, by slipping barely an inch on a ledge, he’s down.

Prompto’s already flying to Noctis’ side, quieter than Gladio’s ever seen and he doesn’t know where to touch. He settles for just balling his hands on his knees, doing his best to coerce Noctis into talking to him, into telling him what’s wrong. 

In amongst it all, Gladio can hear Noctis’ breaths. They’re wheezing, full of pain, the prince - no, king - still hasn’t moved. Hasn’t so much as shaken his head or managed a response to any of the questions Prompto’s firing his way. Prompto is getting more frantic by the second and maybe it’s a trick of the moonlight, but Gladio swears Noctis is getting greyer by the second, face losing all colour. 

“What’s happened?”

That’s Ignis, all concern, knowing from the lack of pace that something’s happened. Gladio lays a hand on his shoulder, partially to reassure him and partially to get him to stay. Ignis is more than competent, of course he is, but his blindness is why Gladio’s been so uptight lately in the first place. He can’t risk another injury.

“I’m not sure,” he replies. “Stay here.”

There’s no promise that he will but Ignis wavers a moment before sighing, waving a hand forward. Perhaps he thinks they’re about to argue over a fork in the road, or whether they really should make camp like Noctis had whined about an hour ago. 

But for now, Gladio brushes that all out of his mind and jogs to Noctis’ side. It hurts in its own way when it becomes obvious Noctis wants to shy away, escape, run, but is physically unable to. He’s still exactly where he’d fallen all those drawn out seconds ago. He crouches down, not even attempting to touch because one, he doesn’t know where to and two, he doesn’t know if Noctis would allow.

(A voice in the back of his head takes that moment to point out that’s probably his own fault but Gladio waves it away.)

“What hurts?”

Noctis manages to glare at him and he looks like he’s going to be stubborn for a moment before deciding he’s better than that. Noctis opens his mouth to reply but ends up snapping it shut before any words escape, hissing with pain. Prompto surges forward again but draws up just as short as last time, eyes wide when they turn to Gladio. Those blue eyes then shift to Ignis, who has sucked in a sharp breath from behind them. 

“Is that...Gladio, let me see him.”

“He’s...he’ll be fine!” Gladio calls back, not wanting to stress him out further but Ignis doesn’t listen because why would he? He stumbles as he tries to come closer and Noctis still _won’t move_. It’s obvious he’s trying but Noctis is literally shaking in pain now. Gladio swears under his breath because it doesn’t make _sense_.

If only he could remember what he never should have forgotten. 

“What happened?”

Ignis is impossible to ignore this time, Gladio growling under his breath. “He just slipped,” he manages to get out and he thinks that’s that but then Ignis freezes.

“Prompto.”

A snap of the fingers accompanies his words and Prompto moves as if on auto-pilot. He damn near trips himself in his haste to get to Ignis’ side. It doesn’t help that as soon as Prompto’s hand finds his elbow, Ignis is powering forward. Prompto dutifully leads him to Noctis’ side, Ignis dropping to his knees. Unlike then, he doesn’t awkwardly hover. A gloved hand finds Noctis’ shoulder before immediately sliding to his back. A very _specific_ part of Noctis’ back.

It’s Gladio’s turn to pale.

“Noctis, how bad?”

It must be bad, for Ignis to be calling Noctis by his name rather than a title. Noctis tries to answer again but, like all his other attempts, it ends in failure. His hiss is replaced with a cut off gasp and Gladio doesn’t know if that’s worse. Ignis mutters something unpleasant under his breath and turns to where he thinks Gladio is - he’s only a foot or so off.

“I dare say this was inevitable. We’ve been pushing too hard.”

Gladio swallows as it all slams back into him. He can, with startling clarity, count every campsite, every caravan, they’ve slept in. Every night that Noctis has had to sleep somewhere that aggravated his back. He can count the hunts, one after the other, that strained it. The long days and short nights. The long stints of running, often on questionable surfaces. Gladio can recall every time he’s dragged Noctis out of his sleeping bag, ribbed him for groaning in relief when he slides into the Regalia’s seats, called him a princess when he tries to get out of setting up camp at the end of the day.

Gladio doesn’t forget...except that sometimes he does.

He wonders how he does. How does he forget Noctis, eight-years-old and bound to a wheelchair? How does he forget stumbling steps and back braces? How does he forget Ignis hovering anxiously every time Noctis went somewhere when it was raining and the ground was slippery? The worry they all felt the first time Noctis tried running? The emphasis he himself had drilled into Prompto about never slapping Noctis on the back or piggy-backing on him?

“Gladio.”

Ignis doesn’t even need to finish his sentence, Gladio already reaching for a potion and crushing it over Noctis’ spine. Noctis’ frame loosens somewhat but not enough. Gladio sets his jaw, getting into position before hefting the young king into his arms. Noctis doesn’t cry out - damn he’s stubborn - but his tears...Astrals, the kid’s crying. Every angry feeling Gladio’s had towards him the past few weeks flies out the window.

“No more camping,” he declares. “Prompto, lead us back, now.”

Prompto nods, reaching back for Ignis’ hand and pulling him forward, Gladio right on his heels.

From then on, he vows not to forget. From then on, Gladio remembers.

***

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! .xx Dan


End file.
